


Bad Company

by Dewcake (dewcake)



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewcake/pseuds/Dewcake





	Bad Company

Peter supposed he could understand what his nephew saw in the little human. Not physically, of course. The boy was all arms, legs, and brutish, clumsy movements - considered weak, even for a human. However, he was also loyal to a fault once you gained his trust. Clever too, though lacking in that genius the girl, Lydia, possessed. While Peter initially believed that might make the boy easier to manipulate, it was clear now that Stiles had accepted whatever alliances Derek had pushed onto him. Perhaps he just needed to be pushed in another direction.

Perched in the metal crossbeams of the abandoned warehouse Derek’s pack had taken to squatting in, Peter watched Stiles. The boy wandered near the stripped bus, sneakers scuffing on the concrete floor. Peter descended to the ground, put on his most charming smile, and pressed up behind Stiles, placing his hands on the teen’s hips. The kid had obviously heard him walk up but didn’t jump at the touch or turn around.

“What are you doing, Derek?” the boy asked, swatting half-heartedly at a hand. 

Peter quirked an eyebrow, and gave Stiles’ hips a firm squeeze. The squeeze must have given him away because Stiles twisted away before Peter even had the chance to reply. 

Stiles hastily shuffled backward until his back smacked against the bus. 

Peter stayed where he was, slipping his hands into his pockets as he watched the clumsy, disjointed dance playing out in front of him. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be so graceless - to have every movement you made making you look like some sort of puppet on strings.

“Really? I can smell sex on you two every time I pass by but a small touch crosses the line?” Peter replied with a snort of laughter. 

The boy was half splayed against the bus now, pressed against it in attempt to keep some distance between them, mouth gaping in bewilderment. Peter wouldn’t be overly surprised right now to hear a “duuh” noise come from the teen’s lips.

“I’m not Derek, obviously,” he continued, “Does he even look at you when you’re in bed with him? Seems like it would be pretty mechanical if he can’t even give you a little squeeze.”

“Sex life’s fine, thanks. Are you done playing creepy, concerned uncle now, or can I go?” Stiles replied, beginning to shift away.

Peter stepped forward quickly, placing his hand against the bus to block the boy’s escape. Razor sharp claws extended from the fingertips of his opposite hand, and he grazed one long, pointed nail against Stiles’ cheek. The human jerked back against the bus again, his head tilted away from the touch. Nervous, but not fearful. Peter had seen and smelt fear on the little human when he had bitten Lydia on the field. The lack of fear was intriguing, but he couldn’t help feeling annoyed by the loss of psychological power.

“I miss having a human pet, you know,” Peter said, ignoring the question posed to him. “There was my nurse, but- well, you know what happened with that.” A sheepish grin crossed over his lips. He dragged his hand down to settle on Stiles’ neck, resting the pointed nail of his thumb against the adam’s apple. Humans were so delicate. He could almost feel the breath caught in the boy’s throat. “A leather collar resting right around here would be nice.”

“Might work better on you. You know, consider the whole being a dog thing-”

Peter pressed his hand against Stiles’ neck a bit harder, cutting off the teen’s mocking remark and getting a pleasing little choking noise in response. He let off on the pressure after a few moments to let Stiles breathe again. After all, Derek would probably rip his throat out if he accidentally killed his nephew’s pet.

“And here I thought you enjoyed humor,” Stiles gasped once he had inhaled a few lungfuls of air.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. Just not so much from pets.”

“I’m not his pet!”

“No, of course not. You’re just waiting here for what now?”

“I’m waiting-”

“For him to come home. Faithful pet to his master if I ever saw one,” Peter interrupted.

“Hey, hey, I’m just waiting for him to come back. He said he was getting food-”

“Oh, he feeds you too?”

“-for us,” Stiles insisted.

“You do realize how suspicious this is starting to sound, don’t you?”

“Peter!” a voice growled from behind him.

And cue Derek. Peter had been a little too focused on Stiles and not focused enough on the sound of approaching doom. His thumb slid down the boy’s neck, resting a moment in the small hollow at the base of it. 

“Would you believe that we were just playing?” Peter asked, looking over his shoulder. 

Derek glared at him and frowned. 

“Guess not. What is it you call him?” Peter continued. He had turned back to Stiles and raised an eyebrow expectantly, but an answer didn’t seem to be coming. “Sour-pants? Sour-lips? Sour-eyebrows?” 

Still no response. And now Stiles was trying to pry at his fingers and Derek was starting to look a bit more murderous.

With a loud sigh, Peter released the hold on Stiles’ neck, and gave him a small shove in Derek’s direction. “There. Safe return of your strangely named boyfriend.” Peter was almost certain that Derek didn’t look any happier.

“Thanks for rescuing me and all. I’ll try to remember to just stand there and look broody the next time I see someone in mortal danger,” Stiles scolded and skidded to his place at Derek’s side. “You should get him a kennel. Maybe one of those electric collars. Do they make those in werewolf size? Or you could have at least smacked him with a rolled up newspaper or something. Even spraying him with a water bottle would have worked better than what you did.”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, giving Peter a quick warning glare as he turned to leave. Stiles was right on his heels, snatching the paper bag Derek had been carrying and peering into it.

“Dude, really? You brought me a cup of soup? How am I supposed to heat this up? You’re living in a decommissioned warehouse. Do werewolves have a firebreath you’re not telling me about? How the hell do you take care of three other wolves and yourself if this is your idea of food?” Stiles continued to babble.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled. 

On second thought, perhaps Peter didn’t want Stiles as a human pet afterall.


End file.
